


Friends Don't Let Friends Shower Alone

by starsandgutters



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, aside from all the cleaning, everybody knows dirty things happen in showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  <i>"Hygiene is important, Finn! Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all the rest of the similar stuff I’d be spouting at you if I did in fact believe in it!" </i></p><p>Written for a prompt from the lovely <a href="http://epanaphoric.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://epanaphoric.livejournal.com/"><b>epanaphoric</b></a> that literally said "Kurt teaches Finn how to wash down there". I kid you not. It started out as a joke, and turned into 9 pages in Word. Look at my life, look at my choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Don't Let Friends Shower Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are fully mine. Also, I had a really hard time finishing this fic, due to the fact my Glee muses seem to have gone on holiday, and it looks as if they'll be there for a while, unless the upcoming episodes are somehow completely amazing. I have exam sessions coming up, but beyond that, I just can't seem to  _feel_ the characters anymore. :( It's sad, but they've kept me company for a couple of amazing years, so I have no regrets. Regardless of whether I will write other Gleefics or not, I hope you enjoy this one! <3

When Kurt first found out, he was _appalled._

Finn was sat on his bed, reading one of Miss Pillsbury’s brochures with a look of such complete concentration on his face that he’d piqued Kurt’s curiosity, causing him to go over and perch on the bed next to him.

“Hey. What are you—oh. Is that a…personal hygiene instructions leaflet?” Kurt chuckled, always somewhat surprised-slash-amused by the relative obviousness of Miss Pillsbury’s pamphlets. Finn didn’t seem to share his bemusement, though, as he was still peering at the page intently.

“Yeah. This stuff is like, blowing my mind. ‘Lift and scrub’. It sounds really easy, you know? I thought there would be some complicated routine like you do with your beauty stuff.”

Kurt gaped. This had to be a joke. It simply _had_ to. “What do you mean, it _sounds_ easy?” He kept the smile on his face, though it was a slightly strained one. He was going to give Finn the benefit of the doubt for at least a few more seconds.

“Well… it’s not like I ever thought about it too closely, you know? I mean, when you shower, you just… kinda wash everything all together. Doesn’t really seem right to, uh. Get fixated on any one spot,” Finn shrugged. That, in Kurt’s opinion, was a rather hypocritical take on the matter, considering Finn had no problems at all getting fixated on _that_ spot outside the shower. (Yes, Kurt had proof. The house had thin walls, okay?)

Ignoring that particular train of thought and the way it did funny somethings to his stomach, he focused on the rather alarming picture Finn’s words painted. “Oh my God, Finn. I can’t believe you—you didn’t know or _care_ enough to properly clean your, your—your _private parts,”_ he settled on, hoping he looked less flustered than he felt and knowing he’d failed when Finn chuckled.

“This isn’t _funny_! Hygiene is important, Finn! Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all the rest of the similar stuff I’d be spouting at you if I did in fact believe in it.”

“Dude, I _know_! That’s why I’m so worried!”

Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but found himself taken aback by the earnest concern on Finn’s face. “…Worried? About what?”

“Well… y’know. The proper way to… keep everything clean.” It was Finn’s turn to look a little flustered.

Kurt blinked. “Finn, there _is_ nothing to worry about. ‘Lift and scrub’, you said it yourself—doesn’t exactly sound like a hard task.”

“Ah, but is it lift _and_ scrub? Like at the same time? Or like, lift and _then_ scrub? And you know, how much lift is the right lift? Or how hard is one supposed to scrub? I mean, it’s a rather… sensitive area, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. We are not having this conversation. I’m hallucinating it. I knew that eating so much cheesecake would come back to bite me in the butt.”

“Come on, bro, this is not the time to get all dramatic. You’re being really unhelpful!”

“ _Unhelpful?_ You’re eighteen, Finn! It’s not my place to—to teach you how to wash _down there._ Or to even _discuss_ anything that goes on in that area!” Kurt spluttered.

“Aw, come on. You totally gave me tips that time with the T-Zone, remember?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Finn?! _The T-Zone is on your face!”_

“Yeah, whatever.” Finn quickly smirked. “Look, just please help me out with this! I wanna be sure I’m doing it right!”

“No. No, no, no and no. I’m leaving. Look at me leaving. Heading to the door, right now.”

“C’mon, Kurt! Coach Beiste said some guys at this college had to have their junk cut off! I don’t want that to happen to mine, I need it for—for things!” In spite of the grotesque absurdity of the situation, there was something irresistibly endearing about Finn’s honest concern and his confused, why-are-you-kicking-me puppy look. “We’re family, right? Family help each other out. I would totally do this for you!”

“I highly doubt it,” Kurt squeaked, but there was no bite to it. “Remember when gay lamps made your homophobia go all Defcon 1?”

“Yeah, that’s still a very valid example of our relationship and something you should totally still be holding against me,” Finn eyerolled, and well, he had a point, Kurt supposed.

“Fine. Let’s get this over quick,” he sighed through gritted teeth. “What do I have to do? Draw you a step-by-step diagram? A Powerpoint slideshow, maybe?”

Finn fumbled a little, hands clasped together in his lap. “Yeah, uhm, about that. You know how I don’t do well with abtract concepts? And like, Mr Schue says I have more of a hands-on learning approach?”

It took Kurt a few moments to puzzle that one out, but when he did, his shriek of indignation was sure to be heard over the whole block.

“Calm down! It’s not as bad as it sounds! I just mean that maybe…”

“I am _not_ putting my hands on your penis!” Kurt choked out, with a definite edge of hysteria because this was like The Twilight Zone or something.

“I didn’t say you had to do that! You can just—you know, show me or something? You’re like, one of the cleanest people I know,” Finn said, probably figuring a bit of flattery was in order. “You’re right up there with Miss Pillsbury, but I can’t ask _her_ , it would be creepy!”

“And _this_ isn’t?!”

“No, because you’re totally a dude! I mean, I admit I wondered a little in freshman year, but you totally are, and that makes it not-weird! It’s like showering with the team after practice!”

“Do all of you jocks usually stare attentively at each other’s… menagerie? Because that would fulfill a whole lot of my early teenage fantasies, I have to say.”

“Ha ha, bro. Very funny. Look, are you doing this or not?”

“I…” Kurt knew very well what the right answer was, because this was freaky, and also he had a boyfriend and also _oh my God,_ freaky. But there were Finn’s puppy eyes again, and he knew with hopeless certainty that he was unable to resist. He always had been, probably always would be.

“All right, Finn. I’ll do it,” he sighed in resignation.

“Cool!” Finn beamed back, clapping him on the shoulder.

Somewhere in the back of Kurt’s mind, despite his best and most staunch attempts to ignore it, his sixteen-year-old self was somersaulting in unabashed, lustful euphoria.

*

They decided to do it in Kurt’s bathroom, because the one down the hall was way more likely to be walked in by one of their parents or Sam, and neither of those options was something the boys wanted to even contemplate.

“I’m ready!” Finn presently called from inside the bathroom, while Kurt fiddled with his bathrobe. This was totally normal, he told himself. This was just two guys helping each other out (well, only one of them was doing the helping, but still). This was not suspicious or weird in the least. This… still didn’t explain why he’d taken care to moisturize even more rigorously the night before, he thought with a growing sense of doom.

No. _No._ It was only because he was Kurt Hummel and he was _fabulous_ , and no one was allowed to see him anything less than perfectly groomed. That was the long and short of it.

“…Kurt?”

“Coming!” he called back, his voice strangely high in his own ears. He padded into the bathroom to find Finn’s head peeking out of the shower, somewhere between expectant and baffled.

“Dude. You’re still dressed.”

“I’m not dressed. I’m in a _bathrobe._ Which makes perfect sense because, as you’ll notice, we are in a _bath_ room.”

“Yeah, okay.” There was a pause. “Are you planning on taking it off sometime, or…?”

“What’s your _hurry_?”

“I just figure the quicker we get this done, the better and less embarrassing for both of us?”

That was…actually sound logic, and Kurt found himself nodding and starting to slip out of the robe, still however unable to banish the odd sense of unease and almost… _trepidation_ crawling under his skin. The moment when he shrugged off the garment completely and laid it on the sink was the worst, and he held his breath for a second as if waiting for some sort of judgment or freak-out to crash on his head. When nothing happened, he snapped out of the strange lull and quickly darted into the shower, resolutely avoiding eye contact.

Boy, this was sure… different.

“So…” Finn started.

“So!” Kurt agreed, still adamantly staring at the floor tiles while he fumbled with his various products, picking out the most basic - and cheapest - body wash that still had moisturizer in it (he was most _definitely_ not going to waste his expensive toiletries on his stepbrother’s lack of hygiene). He couldn’t be sure, but he felt like Finn was doing his best not to look at him too, his eyes trained on the bathroom ceiling.

“This sure is a lot more cramped than the locker room showers,” Finn pointed out, his laugh nervous.

“It is. But on the upside, we’re not risking getting infected by any number of STDs or—you know, anthrax,” Kurt muttered caustically.

“True, true. So, um. Do we…”

“Yes. I’ll—I’ll start. Okay?” Without waiting for a response, Kurt squeezed out some soap and started to wash himself, trying desperately to pretend he was alone… which wasn’t the easiest thing to do with a 6’3’’ football player standing a few inches from him in the small shower, by now looking at him so intently that Kurt felt the hair on his neck stand to attention.

He could do this. He could survive this ordeal. He could just wash himself off, then pretend to give Finn his seal of approval and scarper out of the shower—all without ever needing to make eye contact or indeed look at Finn at _all._

…Of course, the few minutes it would take for him to complete that task would still be excruciatingly painful. Oh! Maybe he could talk through it. Yes, maybe that would help him ignore the burning in his cheeks. Good idea.

He cleared his voice a little, still thoroughly cleaning himself. “See, it’s not hard at all.” _Bad word choice! Bad word choice!!_ The fire in his face seemed to burn hotter. “I mean—it’s, uh—it’s—really ridiculously easy. Just… well, lift and scrub, as it says. And just… scrub until everything’s clean, really.”

“Yeah, dude, I think I’ve got this. Thanks.” Finn’s voice seemed oddly choked, but void of embarrassment.

“Good. I’ll just—I’ll…” he inched towards the shower door, salvation calling to him like a siren’s song.

“Wait…!”

He stopped, fingers hovering over the handle.

“Well… aren’t you going to tell me if I’m doing it right? You said you would…” _Now_ Finn sounded embarrassed.

“I did?”

“Uh huh?”

“O-okay, I suppose.”

Kurt was aware he sounded like he was on the verge of a total break-down, and thus was not surprised when Finn asked him softly “Are you all right, dude?”

 _Shit._ Now he had to look up, didn’t he? He could just play dumb, but he could _tell_ with primal certainty that Finn was looking at him and waiting for him to meet his eyes; and being the obstinate creature he was, he would not desist until Kurt _had_ looked up.

The only problem was that it was, indeed, a long way from the floor tiles to Finn’s face, and on the way there was… well.

 _Don’t be a baby, Kurt. He’s seen_ you, _this is not the time to act like Bella Swan. Just do it._ Sighing, he braced himself and looked up, quickly raising his eyes to Finn’s…

…but not quite quickly enough, and—wow. Kurt hadn’t seen many guys in the full monty, but he fancied himself a good judge of pant-bulges, and… he certainly hadn’t been far off the mark with his speculations (totally _past_ , of course) on Finn.

As it turned out, proportion really _was_ a golden rule.

“I’m okay,” he assured, smiling nervously. “Just… can we get this over with? I don’t have all day.”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally.” Finn smiled gratefully. “So, um. You did it like this, I think…”

 _Don’t faint. Don’t blush. Don’t blush_ more. _Don’t have a heart attack. You’re in control. You’re a grown adult, fully in charge of himself, and you cannot be made uncomfortable by trivial, mundane things, such as—_

 _\--_ such as having to watch his stepbrother-and-formerly-huge-crush energically scrubbing his… _goods?_ Screw pep talks, he had every right to be uncomfortable.

Yet, he watched. It was weird, and as if his body was acting on a completely different programming than his mind. He squinted, gaze fixed and intense in an effort to keep his observation purely scientific.

Scrubbing, yes, good. Soaping. Big, warm hands soaping up the inside of muscled thighs and a—a remarkably-sized… _endowment._ Oh, dear God. Kurt could feel ‘scientific’ jumping straight out of the window as his mind started going to all sorts of places that he’d staunchly forbidden it to visit for two long years. This was, this was—it was torture, it was painfully humiliating and profoundly scarring and _oh my God, so freaking_ _hot._

His bottom lip stung, because he was biting it, and his heart was pitter-pattering unsteady and _loud_ in his ears, and he almost didn’t hear Finn say “Hey, Kurt, can you—um, can you show me that thing with the sponge again? You know, the one where—that one?”

Numbly, Kurt reached for the sponge. He didn’t even know _why_ he was going along with this, except perhaps because anything would be preferrable to the alternatives his mind was presently suggesting, which were either trying to climb Finn like a tree or dropping to his knees altogether and—and oh shit, he hadn’t even known he was _capable_ of thinking that.

He reached between his legs and resumed his former ablutions, but he could tell right away that something had changed radically, that everything was more _sensitive,_ and—and it was hard not to imagine Finn’s hands doing this to him, the same way he had on himself, and his mind was stuck on images of large, sudsy hands caressing skin and…

…oh. Oh _no._

In the terrifying moment he felt himself get hard in his hands, all pretense of calmness jumped ship. His stomach had dropped all the way down to his feet, and he knew, he just _knew_ Finn had seen, and if he hadn’t, he would see soon enough because _they were in the same freaking shower_ and his life was over.

“Let me out. Let me—I have to--” He was trying to shove past Finn when a firm hand clamped down on his arm, the touch oddly kind.  
  
“Kurt, buddy, wait—it’s okay, it’s fine, you don’t have to worry…”

  
“Don’t ‘buddy’ me! It is _not_ okay!” he yelled back, humiliation making his eyes sting with tears. “It’s not, _nothing_ is! I’m just so—I’m so sorry, so mortified, I never… this isn’t what—you know what, it’s not _my_ fault, this is all _you_! _Your_ stupid idea, your—your fault, so don’t even _try_ to freak out on me, because I won’t stand for it! Just don’t— please, _please_ don’t freak out…” he was babbling, torn between anger and fear and shame and imploring, and it was only a minute later that he realized he was the only one talking.

Finn was oddly still, just holding him in place with his hand, his cheeks very pink.

“You’re… not freaking out,” Kurt noted, blinking a little to clear his vision. Finn shook his head, but Kurt couldn’t let it go without questioning his good luck.

“… _Why_ aren’t you freaking out?”

“Um. Because this is… kind of what I was expecting? Y’know, in this—this kind of scenario? I mean, it’s kind of like… you’re me and I’m a hot chick. Er, if you get what I mean.”

Kurt let that sink in for a moment. “…You _expected_ it.”

Finn nodded.

“Yet you still asked me to…to… _why?_ ”

At that, Finn gave a small, embarrassed smirk, one corner of his mouth turning upwards. “Well, I figured… I had to really get proof that you’re not as into Blaine as you say you are.”

If the garbled sound of questioning that left Kurt’s lips had been anything resembling words, it might have said _what the fuck are you talking about?_

“It’s just… you’re the only one who always believes in me.” Finn was fidgeting now, looking way too tall and ungainly to fit in the shower, much less Kurt’s personal space. “You’re fun, and you’re smart, and actually a lot less crazy than Rachel is. And…you know how I said I would always have your back? Well… this one time like, a couple weeks ago, I had this weird sort of… strange dream where I, uh. Had your back. Like, _really_ had it.”

By the time Kurt had puzzled out the words and turned as crimson as Finn was, the other guy had resumed his crazy speech.

“So I decided to try to figure this out, and… you know, to see if maybe you’d be… open to that. But you’re such a good guy I figured if I outright _asked_ you, you’d say no because of Blaine. So I had to like… get you in a compromising position so you couldn’t deny it. And I did. And I’m sorry, and you can punch me.” He scrunched up his eyes and waited, opening one of them after a few moments when no angry blow came his way. “…Kurt?”

But Kurt was gaping, his mind still reeling from the information that had been dropped on him like a cartoony anvil. “You—you set me up. You didn’t _need_ help with personal hygiene, you—did you?”

This time, Finn’s smirk was amused, almost mischievous. “I may be dumb as rocks, but even I can figure out Miss Pillsbury’s pamphlets.”

“You—how did… _unbelievable._ ” Kurt wasn’t sure whether to laugh or slap Finn across the face with all his strength, so he ended up sort of… chuckling and glowering at the same time. 

That is, until he remembered he was still very much sporting a soapy boner. In front of Finn. He blushed anew, taking a shaking breath.

“Finn, I—I’m flattered that you seem to… for some reason, be convinced you have feelings for me, but… mutual friendship and one questionable dream doth not a gay romance make. Really, I should… go and, um, you know, just— _what are you doing?!_ ” he yelped, because Finn’s hand was sliding down his chest slowly but oh, so purposefully.

“Just… proving that I’ve learned my lesson.” Finn’s smile was almost bashful, but his eyes were far from innocent.

“Y-your _lesson_ …?”

“About hygiene. I’ve got all the right moves now,” he clarified, but from the look they exchanged, Kurt was almost sure he meant another kind of lesson, one that involved basements and yelling and how not accepting certain things sometimes led you to make mistakes you regretted bitterly.

“Finn, I still have a boyfriend. Getting—a bit _excited_ over… it doesn’t mean I’m not into Blaine, it just means I’m _alive._ And you’re _engaged_ , as much as I disapprove of _that_ insanity…”

“Then tell me to stop,” Finn shrugged, his voice low and husky, as his hand came to a halt right above the V of Kurt’s hips.

For all of nine seconds, Kurt fought a brave, valiant battle. Then his eyes met Finn’s.

“If you stop now I will _never speak to you again_ ,” he blurted out, and Finn laughed under his breath and leaned in and – _oh_ – they were kissing, slow and warm, the fluttery, tingly feeling he’d always felt around Finn turning his knees to jelly.

This was wrong, he knew it. So very wrong, in fact, it could very possibly come all the way back around to utterly right. That was certainly what it _felt_ like, his hands slip-sliding up Finn’s soapy chest and latching onto broad shoulders, his knee edging between Finn’s legs almost of its own volition and—oh…

“F-Finn. You’re…”

“Yeah. I, um. I know. Don’t need a pamphlet for that.”

And just like that, there it was, that damned lopsided smile. That was how all of this insanity had started, way back in freshman year, although Kurt could never have predicted just _how_ insane things would turn out. Right now, however, it didn’t matter, not with Finn’s hand on the small of his back, his other hand still wrapped around Kurt’s cock and rubbing steadily.

Kurt couldn’t properly account for how many minutes were spent like that, because the kissing was—to say the least—distracting. So maybe Finn was the worst dancer in Ohio, and maybe his… performance duration was nothing worthy of a World Record (at least according to the rumours Santana loved to spread), but _boy_ could he kiss. With his arms locked around Finn’s neck and Finn’s tongue roughly licking into his mouth, Kurt was starting to understand why Rachel hadn’t been all that upset about their Nationals placement the previous year.

He found himself brusquely snapped back into reality by the unmistakeable feeling of his impending climax, and the consequent fierce blush in his face.

“Finn…” he started, embarrassed at the way it sounded less like a word and more like a moan. “I have to—we can’t…” His sudden inability to be articulate was sending him into a near-panic, because… God, this was intimate, _way_ too intimate, and how would he ever be able to look Finn in the eye again?

Except, of course, then he _did_ look into Finn’s eyes – which, he should have known, was a bad idea to begin with, because _those_ eyes had a history of making him do reprehensible things – and suddenly, everything didn’t seem quite so scary anymore. Finn’s eyes were chocolate-brown and so, so very warm, warm like the fierce blush running all the way down his neck, and—and Kurt felt _safe._ This was what _home_ felt like, he thought—closeness and safety and the smile in Finn’s eyes and the dizzying thundering of his heart in his ribcage.

He leaned up on tiptoe and pulled Finn’s head down to meet him, kissing him roughly, breathlessly, a moan spilling from his lips into Finn’s mouth… and that was when he felt warmth against his thigh, thicker than the hot water still cascading over and around them, and it should have been gross but it _wasn’t_ , it really wasn’t, and he moaned again as he clung to Finn’s shoulders tighter and kissed him harder and licked in _deeper_ , pressing their bodies together until—until suddenly it was all over, his vision going black at the edges as a shudder ran through him.

He couldn’t tell how long they stayed still afterwards, flush together in the small, confined space; it wasn’t until the spray of water gradually began to cool down that Kurt raised his forehead from Finn’s chest, daring to look up, trying not to fear what he would see. But it was… just Finn, he realised with something like wonder, only Finn, wearing a bemused expression and a sweet, dopey smile, and not looking any closer to freaking out than he was minutes before, with their mouths pressed hot against each other’s.

In fact, Kurt was pretty sure _he_ should be freaking out a lot more than he was, but everything just felt sort of… slow and mellow and lowly thrumming into his chest.

“S-so…” he started out, his voice hitching on the short syllable.

“Yeah, um. Can we…” Finn motioned to the room outside the shower, goosebumps starting to break over his skin.

“Oh! Yes, yes, let me—um…”

They climbed out, stumbling a bit and giggling about it, and Kurt marvelled at how suddenly being naked in the bathroom didn’t seem quite so awkward anymore, and then tried not to let his breath stutter when he thought of the reason why. He could feel panic like a wave lapping slightly at the edge of his mind, but— _not yet_ , he told himself. _Just wait a few more seconds._

“Finn, this is—er, I think maybe we should…” It wasn’t often that words failed Kurt Hummel. It probably was because he didn’t _really_ want to speak. Not right at the moment. He wished he could curl into Finn, then curl Finn around himself and tuck him in at the edges, and never go outside again.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna talk about it. But we should talk about it if you wanna. I’m—uh, whatever you need to do, man,” Finn said, rushing it all out in one breath, and for once his earnest clumsiness was reassuring.

 _What are you going to tell Rachel?_ Kurt wanted to ask, but even thinking the words made his mouth go dry with guilt, so instead he smiled a little weakly, tightening his bathrobe. He needed more time to think this through, he decided. And clearly being around his goofy, newly-quasi-bisexual stepbrother wasn’t conducive to making the best decisions.

“I think I’ll just… go to my room for now. Yeah. Maybe… maybe meet downstairs later for—for toast or something, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that… that sounds cool,” Finn smiled, and judging by the awkwardness of his smile, the guilt was settling in place for him, as well.

“I—I made a huge mess, didn’t I?” he laughed weakly, but then sucked in a breath and added: “But… I promise that no matter what, I have your back. Uh, I mean…” he blushed beetroot red again—“I just mean I’m siding with you no matter what you decide to do, man. I’m… I’m not backing out of this one.”

Kurt found with some surprise that the thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and he wondered what that said about them nowadays, and whether it was a good or a bad thing. “Thanks, Finn,” he replied soberly after a moment. “I appreciate it.”

They stood in the bathroom for a few more moments, perhaps wondering what the appropriate way to end the conversation was – _Is there a proper way to end just-had-sex-with-your-romantically-involved-stepbrother conversations?,_ Kurt wondered – before just waving a little shyly at each other and darting off in opposite directions.

Five minutes later, all sobriety gone, Kurt was lying down on his bed, face firmly planted into the pillowcase, with no idea as to how he was feeling, what he was going to do, or whether he was going to have a heart attack in the next few hours from wildly hyperventilating. In fact, he was so agitated it took him a good while to realize there was music playing across the hall, in Finn’s room. He almost yelled at him to turn it down out of habit, before his ears really tuned in to it.

 _When you’re standing at the crossroads_  
And don’t know which path to choose  
Let me come along, ‘cause even if you’re wrong  
I’ll stand by you, I’ll stand by you  
Won’t let nobody hurt you  
I’ll stand by you

It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was Finn’s silly, emotionally awkward, _boyish_ way to let him know he intended to make good on his promise, but for a moment, Kurt hated him for choosing that song. It had to be _that_ song, didn’t it, with all the memories, tears, dashed hoped and heart-flutters that Kurt had pinned to it when they’d first met, and he’d been so very sure Finn was the love of his life. Well, he wished he’d never thought that; he wished he had never helped Finn pick out that song; he wished they’d never even _met,_ he thought with vicious frustration.

And then, he thought a moment later, breaking into a smile as he hugged his pillow to his heart—he really, truly _didn’t._


End file.
